Talk, Taxman!
by GiftsofGab
Summary: Wolf struggles to get access codes from the Taxman.


"Talk!" Wolf barked.

"I'm not telling you sh*t!" shouted Eugene Sturr, or the Taxman, as the Payday Gang had come to call him. He was resilient to the threats Wolf had dished out thus far. The four-man crew had just dragged him inside to get monetary access codes from him. Wolf faced the man who was taped to an old office chair. The Swede lifted his mask slightly to reveal his stubbly beard and thin lips. He spat onto the Taxman's face and adjusted his mask before exiting the room.

He walked to his Russian partner who was waiting for FBI agents to storm the hallways at any moment.

"I've tried everything," Wolf whispered. "I even threatened to hurt his mom, but no dice. That guy is heartless."

"Well," Sokol began and cocked his head with a slight shrug. He did not have to say another word before Wolf understood.

"Yeah," said Wolf. "Just wanted to make sure you guys were cool with that."

"I'm cool with 25 million dollars," Clover called over her shoulder from down the hall as she nailed planks over an air duct. Wolf looked to Hoxton who was passing nails to Clover. He held up a nail and nodded. Wolf imagined him winking under his clown mask.

"Alrighty then," Wolf said low to himself.

"Atta boy, Wolf," said Bain over the crew's earpieces.

Wolf stepped away from Sokol and back into the small room with the Taxman. "Look, my patience is wearing out." He unfastened the red nail gun from his belt. The Taxman's eyes caught a glimpse of it and a twinge of fear pulsed through him. He hid it well by looking away quickly and showing almost no emotion, but Wolf could see the terror in his eyes. This was a man who was used to be being threatened monetarily or with jail time, not with 2-inch nails in his body.

"What's it gonna be?" Wolf asked, raising his head slightly.

The Taxman scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Wrong answer," said Wolf, placing the nail gun on the man's knee.

From outside the room, the three other heisters heard a series of agonizing screams and Wolf's barely-audible threats.

Hoxton laughed and relished in the idea of what was happening in the room, imagining the action accompanying each shout and beg. Clover shook her head as she prepared another duct. While she had few times seen a man be beaten for information, she expected this to come with the territory.

Sokol, meanwhile, was still at the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway. He faltered and caught himself on the stairway railing. Knees quivering slightly, he swallowed the vomit he had just committed in his mouth. He winced as sweat tickled his temples.

"You alright, kid?" asked Hoxton from down the hall as he noticed Sokol catch the railing.

"Fine," Sokol called back. The Taxman screamed again. Sokol let out a low, nauseous heave. "Just that Mexican food catching up with me," he lied. Sokol liked to think he had the heisting gig in the bag and that he was up for anything the others could handle. In Russia, his solo robberies went swimmingly, but were rarely beyond the realm of shooting cops and taking loot. Politics, bomb theft, and especially putting nails through begging men were far beyond the work he expected upon joining the Payday Gang. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and steadied himself and his gun as he took down the first few officers who rushed up the steps.

As the others shot incoming officers for a few minutes, Wolf bit his lip in the small room with Sturr. "Oh, sh*t," he whispered to himself. Sturr was limp, his head slumped so his chin touched his chest.

"Wolf?" Bain said impatiently over the earpieces. "We only got one code out of him, Wolf."

The Swedish heister hid the nail gun behind his back. The blood trickled from the appliance onto his blue rubber gloves. He had gotten caught up in his bloodlust.

"Don't tell me you killed him…" The cool rage in Bain's voice was easy to spot at this point in Wolf's career with him.

"No, look, he's fine," Wolf said, grabbing Sturr by the shoulders and shaking him. "Wakey wakey, gimme money," he chimed. Wolf pulled his fingers across the man's cheeks to force him to smile. "H-he's just napping is all."

"Idiot," Hoxton said through gritted teeth as he charged into the small room. "Let me 'ave a look at 'im." As Hoxton stooped down to inspect him, the Taxman suddenly gasped and his head shot up. He screamed a sharp and loud shriek which was accompanied by Wolf's own.

Hoxton stood, frowning and with an eye slightly twitching out of impatience. He grabbed Wolf by the tie, eyes still on Sturr who was looking in panic at the wounds Wolf had given him. "Give me two minutes," Hoxton demanded.

Wolf shuddered and leapt from the room. He joined Sokol at the stair top and gave him a bloody thumbs up. The young Russian's knees gave out again and Wolf had to grab him under the arms while firing a bullet through the uncovered neck of an officer. He managed to get Sokol to lean against a wall and they fought side-by-side for a short time.

Sure enough, less than two minutes later, Hoxton exited the room whistling and dusting his hands together. His suit was without a drop of blood. He called for Wolf and joined Clover to defend the hallway. Wolf left Sokol with a pat on the back and he rushed back into the small room.

Sturr sat shivering in his chair, staring ahead with wide eyes whose tears were washing away the blood Wolf had left on his face. It appeared Hoxton gave him no new wounds- at least, no physical ones. "St-star breezer and Saigon," he wheezed. "P-please, that's all the passcodes," he pleaded, eyes still unfocused.

Wolf typed in the passwords and, after a some time keeping cops off the power boxes and computer terminal, the hacking program had finished.

"Bile here," the pilot called over their earpieces. "I'm here and ready to go!"

Wolf left the small room for the last time, catching a glimpse of the Taxman's shoulders heaving as he sobbed. The heister shot down a few pursuing officers, but did not go out of his way to shoot the two who had reached Sturr and begun untaping him from the chair.

The Swede rushed down the hallway after Clover and Hoxton. He was met by Sokol, who grabbed Wolf's shoulder with one hand to steady himself and spray-fired officers behind him with the other. He let out a pathetic whimper when he noticed the blood on Wolf's shoulder.

The four heisters made it to the rooftop and neared the helicopter. There was a gap in the building they had to jump to reach Bile. Hoxton and Clover had made it already and called for the others to join them. As they neared it, Wolf shoved the hesitant Sokol as hard as he could. The Russian flew across the gap and fell on his knees on a piece of plywood that was sticking out halfway across the space in the building. The board snapped and fell to the concrete below as Hoxton snatched Sokol's collar and pulled him to safety.

Wolf stepped back and prepared to make the jump without the wooden plank for support. He looked back over his shoulder at the incoming raid of officers, only to see Sturr in handcuffs being led to a police vehicle on the street below. The Taxman looked up to the center of the flurry of bullets and saw Wolf peering back at him. Brow furrowed deeply in despair, Sturr took his seat in the car and the door was shut by an officer.

Wolf turned back to his crew members and ran to them, making the jump by a hair. They all climbed a rope ladder into Bile's helicopter and the pilot took off. "What did you say to that guy?" Wolf shouted over the loud whirling of the chopper blades.

"We got the codes, didn't we? Never you mind," Hoxton said coolly, interlocking his fingers behind his head with a smirk.

Clover rolled her eyes at his smugness as she fanned a heaving Sokol with her pocket handkerchief. Wolf stared at Hoxton in admiration. He smiled and sat back in his seat, still happy to have gotten one code by his own means.


End file.
